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He motioned toward the bed. “Let me shift the bed so it’s angled toward the light of the fire.”
She jumped to her feet, stepping aside as he picked up the foot railing of the bed with one hand and spun the length of the mattress long in front of the fire.
Hell. She really was going to have to do this.
“So, you’re going to have to let me see it, Victoria.” Rafe had turned to her, his look somewhat impatient as he eyed her cloak still draped over her body. Of course. He probably wanted to get to sleep as well.
Her top teeth slipped over her bottom lip. The swelling had gone down on it and the cut inside her mouth had mostly healed, but if she kept gnawing at her lip like that, it would puff back up. She opened her mouth, licking her lips.
He motioned to her clothes.
Her stare settled on him, her breath caught in her chest. “I don’t trust you.”
“I don’t trust you either.” He didn’t even flinch at her admission. “But you are miserable and you would be a much better travel companion if you didn’t look like you were going to retch at any given moment. Plus, I don’t want your wounds getting pus-filled and soaking onto my favorite coat when I’m forced to carry you into the next inn because you’ve fallen asleep again.”
A nervous chuckle escaped her lips. “Fine. If only to rescue you from the disgusting pus.”
“Thank you.”
She turned away from him and unclasped the frog fastener holding the heavy cloak closed, then draped it onto the chair by the table. There wasn’t a changing screen or anything of the sort in the room to give her even a false sense of propriety, so her back to him would have to do.
She couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her.
Simple.
Behind her, he moved the basin and pitcher of water from the washstand to the floor close to the fire. She heard the clink of the basin onto the brick hearth and then water pouring into the bowl.
She unbuttoned the front of her spencer, then tenderly slid the white linen shirt layered underneath up over her head and off her arms. Her skirt would have to go as well. The heavy wool would only get in the way once they moved to work on her thigh. She unclasped the waist and dropped it to the floor, then removed her boots before piling her skirt over the rest of her clothes on the chair.
Down to only her shift and short stays. Heaven help her.
The hairs on her bare arms pricked in the air. Not because she was cold, but because she could feel Rafe’s stare on her back.
This would be so much easier if he was old. Unattractive. Annoying.
But he wasn’t. He was handsome and virile and fascinating.
And she knew exactly what he could do to a woman to make her moan in pleasure.
Yet that was neither here nor there.
It had to be.
It took her a long moment of convincing herself this didn’t mean anything—this was necessary—before she craned her neck to look back at him, her look pinning him. “But this doesn’t compromise me. You understand? This doesn’t compromise me.”
“You have my word.”
She could swear his lip twitched into a smirk for the tiniest of seconds.
His hand motioned to her body. “You’re still fully clothed in my eyes.”
With a nervous breath sinking into her chest, she turned and shuffled past him, moving to the side of the bed closest to the fire. Not that she needed the heat. She was already near to boiling. But she wanted him to have as much light as possible.
More light, less knife.
She sat, putting most of her weight on her right leg because the shards under her left thigh were vicious.
“Let’s tackle your arm first.” He sat down next to her left arm, setting the knife onto the bed and out of her view.
